


same auld lange sayne

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Single Father, with a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Ten years after Teen Wolf ends, Tyler is living a quiet life far from the bright lights of Hollywood. But he didn’t forget it. And he didn’t get over Dylan.





	same auld lange sayne

 

He didn’t expect the phone call. Because they didn’t call each other. They text,  occasionally, and emailed a little more, but they were busy-- _he_ was busy and Tyler wasn’t part of that world anymore, was so firmly outside it that he could barely remember the way it worked.

(You remember. The hot lights of set, the smell of the makeup and coffee and pine dust as sets came together, and _him_ close enough to touch, always laughing. You remember. You can’t forget.)

They weren’t close, not in the way they had been, when they were both young and the whole world was theirs to conquer. Too much time had passed and they were too different from each other, and maybe that was his fault.

(It was both of you, and you knew it, but it stung less to accept the blame. It stung less to believe that you let go and _he_ didn’t drift away to something better.)

So it was surprising to look down and see his name on the phone, surprising to hear _his_ voice, quirky and familiar and warm, real in a way he only got snatches of since everything fell apart and they left each other.

(You listen to interviews, sees the movies, but it's different, and you miss this, miss _him,_ in a way that makes you ache, makes you nod and agree to appearances at cons you know _he’ll_ be at.)

The thing was, and later, when he's standing in his living room panicked, he'll blame it on this

(and maybe believe it)

 _he_ sounded tired, _his_ words slow and jokes flat, and it broke him, hearing that. He knew about the divorce, the public messy affair, the way _he’d_ thrown himself into work and women. And he spoke, not really thinking, soft when _he_ was quiet, even breathing and weary, the invitation falling natural from his lips.

“Come here, Dylan.”

~*~

He kept waiting for his phone to ring, for Dylan to call and explain (awkward and apologetic, but relieved) why he wouldn’t be able to come. He kept waiting for the _thanks but no thanks_. Because that’s who they were now, what they were to each other. Strangers, acquaintances, empty offers and polite refusals.

(Maybe that's why you offered, because that polite distance had been slowly killing you for ten years.)

But Dylan didn't call, except to send him flight info and a brief, see ya soon.

It made him nervous. He liked his life in northern Cali but it was a far cry from the hustle of LA or the warm beach of his home there. This is the kind of place Dylan has never known, and Tyler doesn't know what to do with that or how he'll react.

(You aren't ashamed of your life but you are very conscious of the difference in your and Dylan's lives.)

Holland calls, warm and familiar and comforting as she chatters and he drops it awkward and mid sentence, into the conversation. She’s quiet for a long time and then, carefully, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

(No, no, you aren’t sure, you has no fucking _clue_ what you’re doing but--)

“Yeah,” he says, gruffly, “It’ll be good.”

~*~

It's snowing when he pulls up to the tiny municipal airport. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, ducking into his scarf as he crosses the parking lot.

He sees Dylan first.

(You’ve always seen Dylan first.)

The younger man is standing in a halo cast by the overhead lights, head dipped down and hand curved near his lips as he lights a cigarette. He's wearing dark tight jeans and a rumpled t-shirt under his long pea coat that's open and caught by the wind.

Tyler can't see his eyes, but he can see the way Dylan stands, slightly slouched, a little tired, and his hands itch to reach for the younger man.

(It used to be your right, to tug Dylan close and let him slump exhausted against your shoulder, used to be as easy as breathing and as comfortable as a warm sunspot.)

He must make a noise because Dylan's head snaps up, and Tyler can see it, the shock that makes amber eyes go wide and his mouth to open a little, watch the hand tightens a little on his bag.

He wonders if Dylan is regretting it, coming here. If he wants to bolt.

Part of Tyler does.

The bigger part, the part that has been waiting for this moment for _years_ smiles a little and steps closer.

“Hey, man. It's good to see you.”

(You hold your breath, because this--this is where it could go right or wrong and you didn’t realize how much you want it to go right until--)

Dylan throws his arms around Tyler, that big, full body hug that he’s _missed_ and it’s different--Dylan is taller now, broader across the shoulders, heavier with muscle--but it still fits. It’s still _right._

~*~

It doesn’t last.

By the time they get to his house, the awkward has settled in. Dylan is chattering useless small talk and tapping quick messages, his gaze never straying far from his phone screen, and Tyler is quiet, giving him space.

(Dylan used to invade your space. Used to demand a place in it that Tyler teased you about, and gave to you without thinking because it was easy and where you wanted Dylan, always.)

When he pulls up to the house, he looks at it, through the eyes of a stranger, and wonders if Dylan sees the place he’s grown into himself, the place he loves and worked on, or if it’s just a quaint little cottage badly in need of a new coat of paint and a snow shovel.

He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t think he can handle that kind of dismissal, so he keeps his gaze turned away.

(Hiding. You’re hiding. You’re just too chickenshit to own up to it.)

He gives Dylan a brief tour, and catches the way amber eyes snag on baskets of toys, the way he watches Tyler scoop up crayons and ratty sketchpads.

He refuses to feel ashamed about _that._

~*~

Dylan retreats early, claims a headache from traveling, and flashes a smile that is too much red-carpet shine and not enough of his friend.

He tries not to feel like he’s failing as he nods and shows Dylan to the room he’s staying in and mutters about towels and extra blankets.

“The bathroom--Mandie decorated it. I’m sorry,” Tyler adds, flushing a little and Dylan’s smile trips into that wry real amusement he misses.

“Dude, I’m not complaining. I like it,” he promises, and then, softer, almost shyly, “Where is she?”

Tyler blinks because he didn’t expect that, and then he remembers that Dylan was always surprising him when they were on set, asking about his family and remembering the most random shit. He always asked after the people Tyler loved, he isn’t sure how he forgot that little tidbit.

Dylan watches him, warily, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask that, and Tyler smiles. “She’ll be home tomorrow.”

Something like fear and relief flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone before Tyler can decide what it means.

(He’s hiding from you, and you hate it. You don’t know what to do with that. With the distance and dodging.)

He gives you a final smile, small but _real_ and slips into his room for the night.

~*~

He putters around the house, cleaning up and closing things down, and it makes him smile, the tree in the corner and Dylan’s ratty shoes by the door because it feels like he’s fallen through time, to a lifetime ago.

(Sometimes you wish you could. Even with Mandie--you wonder.)

Teen Wolf was so much, so fast, and Dylan was wrapped up in that. Tyler had felt it before, the bubble _apart_ feeling that living inside a project could create, but it was different for Teen Wolf. They lived in each other’s pockets, all of them in a city that wasn’t home, without the distractions and friends of LA.

They bonded, the entire cast, in a way he didn’t expect and fell hard for. But Dylan--Dylan was special. Dylan was quiet when he needed and laughter when he was sad, was the warm body pressed against him while Posey drove them to set, was the sleepy gaze across from him at the breakfast table and the curled up body in his trailer when shooting ran late.

(Dylan was everything that kept you grounded, everything you wanted and wouldn’t let yourself have. He always has been. He still is.)

Tyler kissed him on a Wednesday. It was just before filming wrapped, and they were both sitting in his trailer, sharing a beer and talking about their plans for the summer--Tyler’s plan to catch up with his family, Dylan’s new movie--and he leaned over and caught him in a kiss that was warm and tasted of beer and Dylan’s laughter.

They got off lazy and slow between sticky kisses and for a week. For ten days. They were inseparable, wrapped around each other, so damn happy

(You thought you couldn’t be that happy, that it was impossible but Dylan was made of impossible, and you _were_ . So damn happy it broke you a little, when he pushed you into bed and fingered you open, pressing kisses into your thigh, so happy it was dizzying when he slid into you with a low broken groan and you gave yourself up to him, to _this._ )

They got ten days of perfect, and then Dylan kissed him in their apartment while Posey was sleeping, and slipped away with the promise to call. Tyler didn’t say he’d miss him, and didn’t say he wanted to tell their castmates, their families, when he came home. He let Dylan go with a casual, _see you in a couple months._

When Dylan came back, though, it was with Britt.

~*~

The smell of bacon and the sound of a high clear voice jerks him from sleep. His whole body aches and he realizes abruptly he fell asleep on the couch in front of the tree, and he slept way too late. He groans and rubs at his face, and stumbles through the house until he gets to the kitchen.

Dylan offers him a lazy grin and a cup of coffee

(You swallow the urge to beg him to marry you)

And turns back to the mess of eggs he’s stirring while Tyler turns to Mandie. She hasn’t even acknowledged him, chattering a mile a minute and coloring carefully in the new coloring book that Tori must have picked up for her.

“Hey, muffin. You meet Mr. Dylan.” Tyler says, leaning down to press a kiss into her hair.

“He’s making me eggs. You were sleepin’,” her voice is just a little bit judgy, in the way only a six year old can be. Her eyes are sharply assessing though, and she sniffs before selecting a pale shade of blue and turning back to her coloring book. “You need more sleep, Papa.”

Dylan huffs at the stove, and Tyler nods, steps away from her. “I know, baby.”

It’s easy

(too easy, too easy, you _know_ better)

Leaning against the counter near him, and watching silently as Dylan charms his daughter, while juggling cooking and moving around him like they’d always been in the same place.

Dylan is more lively than he was last night, teasing Mandie and flashing private smiles at Tyler, moving with that sharp kinetic energy that he threw so effectively into Stiles and so many of his characters since.

It makes something tight and worried in Tyler’s chest loosen and ache, all at once.  

~*~

It’s easier, with Mandie. She’s a buffer that Tyler isn’t sure he wants

(You don’t want her getting too close, don’t want her getting hurt, don’t want to see him attached to your daughter, your whole goddamn world, only to vanish)

but is grateful for, regardless.

Mandie chatters incessantly and Dylan laughs with her, crawls onto the floor for her tea parties, listens with rapt attention as she tells him all about her tiny toys.

She doesn’t care who he is or what they were a lifetime ago, doesn’t care that his life and career are tailspinning.

She doesn’t care that sometimes, Tyler stares a little too long, his eyes a little too full.

(you don’t mean to, only know you can’t keep it from happening and have stopped trying.)

She doesn’t care that sometimes, Dylan looks back.

It’s easier and it’s fucking with his head.

~*~

They go to town. It’s small and cozy and Tyler is worried about Dylan being noticed and recognized, but it’s comfortable. Mandie leads him into a tiny bookstore that they spend too much time in, marching happily to the kids section while Tyler finishes his Christmas shopping and Dylan browses almost aimlessly.

He’s on a few movie promo tie-in covers, and grimaces when Tyler nudges them at him.

So Tyler relents and hands him a favorite of his, a book about theology and space with a startlingly sweet love story. Dylan spends the rest of the visit absorbed in it, blinking sleepily at Tyler in that adorable way of his when he nudges the younger man and says, softly, “Ready to go?”

Mandie hands him a bag, solemn and sweet and he grins when he sees his book inside.

“Daddy won’t give _me_ presents early,” she says, petulantly and Dylan--

Dylan laughs for the first time since he got off the plane

(and you realize just how very fucked you are.)

~*~

They spend the first night after Mandie is tucked into bed wrapping the last of her gifts and talking about nothing, dancing around everything that they _should_ talk about.

The next night--the presents are wrapped and the fire is crackling warm in living room and there’s been maybe too many beers, but it’s easy to roll his head and look at Dylan

(in your space, jesus, so close you can smell his cologne and sweat, see the delicate fan of his eyelashes)

and say, “I’ve missed you.”

Dylan blinks and gives him a smile. It’s not quite real, not quite honest, and he frowns. “Don’t. Don’t hide, Dyl. It’s me.” Plaintive and sad, too honest, he knows it’s _too fucking honest._ “You--you used to talk to  me. You weren’t always performing.”

Dylan goes stiff and angry for a second, and then, so fast it makes Tyler dizzy, he goes limp, sagging against the couch and saying, soft and sad. “That was a long time ago, Hoech. We aren’t those people anymore.”

“We could be,” he says

(you mean it, you could be everything you were, everything you could have been, if you had a little more _time)_

and Dylan shudders.

“Why did you call me?” Tyler asks, sudden and unexpected, the question that’s been burning in his mind since he first saw Dylan’s name on his phone.

Dylan shrugs and rolls his beer in his hand, anxious and hopeful when he says, “Because you’ve always been safe, Hoech. Even after--you never pushed me away. You never judged or hated or any of that shit. You were just there,” he shrugs helplessly. “I know it’s not fair. I   _know_ it’s not. But I needed to know if you were still there.”

(you can’t breath, you can’t fucking _breathe_ and you need to, you need to say)

“I’m still here,” Tyler murmurs, and Dylan’s eyes go hot and soft all at once. Tyler catches him as he moves, as he scrambles up and into the older man’s lap and breathes it again, just before they crash together.

“I’m still here.”

~*~

They end up on the plush rug where he spends so much time with Mandie and it feels…

It feels familiar.

Like what they've done before, with the tight grip Dylan keeps on his hips and the way he breaks off the kiss to keen, helpless and hungry, pressing it into his throat as he thrusts into Tyler's grip.

(He feels right, pressed against you, his body heavier and warmer and still _him_ , still the boy you thought you could love.)

They come like that, crash back into each other, messy and desperate and sweet, despite it all, and for a long time, they lay silent, and close together.

“Do you remember the last time we did this?” Dylan asks, finally.

(yes, yes, yes, _yes.)_

“Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Did--do you mean it?” Dylan asks, redirecting suddenly. “When you said you’re still here?”

Tyler tugs him that inch closer, kisses him soft and sweet, and murmurs. “I’ve always been here.”

~*~

They spend a day making cookies, and Mandie orders them around like a militant little dictator in a sparkling tutu and bouncing curls. Sometimes, Tyler thinks, looking at her, she’s every bit her mother’s daughter.

“What happened?” Dylan asks, glancing at Mandie, curiosity bright in his eyes.

What happened…

(you were sad. You were sad and lonely and angry and she was there, and warm and kind.)

“Life, I guess. She wasn’t ready for a kid.”

“And you were ready to leave the bright lights behind.”

Tyler would deny it, but--yeah. He’d been ready. The rest of the Teen Wolf cast fought tooth and nail for jobs, after the series wrapped, some with more success than others, but none with Dylan’s success.

It was ok, though. Tyler did a few movies and let himself drift from the spotlight even while he kept close to the friends he had made. When Victoria landed in his bed and pregnant, he’d immediately agreed to keep the baby. She still saw Mandie, but she wasn't a mother and that was ok.

(You wonder sometimes what would have happened if she hadn't gotten pregnant. If Dylan would have stayed, the night he showed up after the engagement leaked, and he found you holding a two month old screaming baby. You hate yourself for wondering.)

Tyler shrugs. “Life happened.”

~*~

He thinks about it, later. About where it all went wrong.

It was The First Time.

It was Britt.

Not bad, not really, she just. She changed things. The way Dylan was with Hoechlin,  the way he flew out to see her, or flew her in, to lounge on set like some too real reminder of everything Dylan had chosen.

(Everything that wasn't you.)

Things weren't breaking down, not yet. But the house cards was beginning to fold, then. And Britt brought them tumbling down for whatever was building between them,

Dylan tried to talk about it, once or twice, and Tyler dodged, not wanting to hear all the reasons a pretty blonde girl was so much better for him than Tyler could be.

And eventually Dylan quit trying. Eventually Tyler left the show.

Eventually what might have  been gave way to what was.

(You never stopped wondering. You never stopped wanting. You only learned to live a life around that want, a life you loved. And sometimes, when Mandie slept and you were tired and lonely, you let yourself miss the man you loved.)

~*~

They spend Christmas falling over Mandie and a wealth of toys that Tyler should feel a little guilty over, but she grins and hugs him hard and he doesn’t feel guilty at all, just absurdly pleased to have made his best girl happy.

Dylan crawls on the ground with her and spends most of the morning opening toy packages and playing elaborate games Mandie thinks up while Tyler puts a couple game hens in the oven and makes homemade stuffing and cobbler to go with it.

After a dinner that Mandie chatters through, and five minutes of Rudolph, she passes out hard, sprawled sticky and warm across Tyler’s chest, Dylan pressed along his side.

He doesn’t think about the long looks Dylan’s been giving him, and he doesn’t think about how much he wants Dylan to stay.

He doesn’t think about the life that’s waiting for Dylan in two days.

He just lets himself bask in the moment.

(You never let yourself dream it could be this perfect and this bittersweet.)

~*~

Tori picks up Mandie the morning of the twenty sixth, and gives Dylan, sleep rumpled and barefoot on Tyler’s couch, a curious smile, and Tyler a knowing grin touched with worry. Tyler ignores both looks, and kisses Mandie and promises to see her in a few days. She hugs Dylan and bounds away, and Tyler shuts the door.

(You take a breath, lean into it)

Dylan is against him before they leave the driveway, his hand shoved down Tyler’s pants, panting little pleas into the skin of his neck, and Tyler gives, bends, shatters under the younger man, gives him everything he asks for.

They get off that first time against his front door, Dylan’s hand tight and sure around his cock, and then the ground hard beneath his knees while Dylan cursed and fucked his mouth and shook like this was their first time.

They fuck in his bed, Dylan sprawled out and lazy-lidded, that first desperate edge dull now, and Tyler whines, ducks down and licks over him, savoring the sweet shudder, the keening noise Dylan doesn’t bother to cut off or tamp down, and the warm clean taste of him.

When he finally slides into Dylan, the younger man is almost sobbing with want, his hands clutching at Tyler’s shoulders, gasping, gasping.

(you fuck him, these hard deep thrusts that are gonna shove you over the edge too damn fast but its drawing out that sweet little gasp, and you’ll do anything to hear it from him)

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop, please, _Tyler.”_

~*~

They fuck in the shower and Dylan shoves him against the pantry door and sucks him off. They trade messy handjobs on the couch and Dylan rides him lazily him on the rug where they first crashed back into each other and when they wake up, Tyler tugs Dylan over him and lets Dylan fuck him, with a raw desperation that makes him want to sob.

He holds on and shudders and doesn’t think about him leaving.

~*~

Dylan sits in his truck cabin, staring at the tiny municipal airport and Tyler drums his fingers nervously against the steering wheel.

“If you asked me to stay,” Dylan says and Tyler swallows.

(You know. You know and you can’t ask him to stay, because you _know_ he would.)

“I know.” Tyler nods.

Dylan pushes open the door and Tyler clears his throat. Stares at him and says, “I never stopped-

(Loving you.)

-you know. Not ever.”

He smiles and it breaks the part of Tyler that will always belong to this amber eyed beautiful man.

“I know.”

The door closes quietly and then he’s gone.

~*~

The house feels empty and for the first time since Tyler moved here five years ago--he hates it.

Dylan lingers like a ghost, and Mandie is gone and it’s so damn quiet it’s driving him fucking insane.

(You spend a day in bed, in the sheets that need to be changed but you can’t bring yourself to, because they smell like him, like you, like sex. You get off and try to ignore the sting of tears against your closed eyes.)

Tyler leaves the house and spends his days at the local cafe and waits impatiently for Mandie to come home.

~*~

“I miss Mr Dylan, Papa.”

(Oh, baby girl. Your sweet, loving baby girl.)

“I do too, baby.”

~*~

Tyler turns down Holland’s invitation to spend New Year's Eve with her, makes homemade pizza with Mandie and sips at the two beers he limits himself too.

(It would be easy to get drunk, and too easy to stay that way, right now)

She stays up too late, reading her books and coloring and watching the movies Tyler puts on while he watches from where he’s sprawled on the couch.

It’s quiet and melancholy and he thinks maybe Holland was right about inviting Dylan here.

(Or maybe it was worth it. You think it was worth it.)

The knock on the front door startles him, and he straightens and nudges Mandie behind him while he opens the door.

It’s cold and raining and forty five minutes to midnight and nothing about it is romantic as Dylan stands there on his porch, rain soaked and bedraggled, and hopeful

Mandie makes a happy shriek, and he grins at her, catching her in a hug, before his gaze goes back to Tyler.

(He’s watching you and you feel like you can breathe, you feel like your coming back to life.)

“I know you didn’t ask. I get why you can’t ask. But I am. I’m asking if I can stay.”

(Yes, yes, fucking _yes._ )

“Dylan,” Tyler says, helpless, and Mandie is watching him, and Dylan, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“I didn’t either. I never stopped loving you. And I’m tired of spending the years without you,” he says.

Tyler catches his sleeve and he is cold and wet and perfect, when he draws Dylan in, into the warmth of the house, and into his arms, and into his life.

Mandie shrieks, surprised and pleased and a little disgusted, when Tyler kisses him.

(You sleep with him in your arms, and you promise to never let go.)


End file.
